


he who makes a beast out of himself

by venomedveins



Series: tumblr prompts & drabbles [1]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Past talk of violence, Slavery, Smut, baths, deep discussions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 17:25:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10926546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venomedveins/pseuds/venomedveins
Summary: crazzzedope wanted bath time and smut. i add in angst for flavor





	he who makes a beast out of himself

Room is tucked in far corner of villa, cavernous and decadent in design. Blue and white tiles line floor, bath cut deep into smooth stone, three steps leading into the water. A thin curtain of white linen has been stretched over wide doorway, a haphazard attempt at privacy from sounds of others moving around villa. Their voices still echo though, a chorus of laughter and song in wake of battle.

It is luxury not often allowed in midst of rebellion, moments stolen without prying eye or needed council, and yet one which Nasir cherishes above all others. Agron had guided them swiftly through walls of villa almost as if man possessed, pressing heated kisses to Nasir's neck and quick fingers to scatter armor along foot's path. Now water curls around them, staining slowly as they scrub the blood and grim of battle from skin.

"You fought well today," Agron murmurs, drags soap along line of Nasir's shoulders. "To rival any fucking gladiator."

"Any?" Nasir raises brow, scrubbing dried blood from under nail. "Even the Great Beast from East of the Rhine?"

"A foolish name given by Roman shits. I was not only gladiator from such place." Agron huffs words as hands turn firm, digging into where knot of tension twists at base of Nasir's neck. 

"Wh- _Oh fuck_ ," Nasir dissolves, collapsing back to Agron's chest, eyelashes fluttering. Pleasure curls warm in chest, skin tingling as Agron rotates pads of fingers, stimulating deep. "What would you have had them call you?"

"Nothing." Agron answers easily, hands still intent upon sore ache in Nasir's spine. "They should call me nothing but death, for they will meet it by my hand."

"Many have," Nasir moans, turning face into Agron's neck. He can feel Agron's breath against shoulder, warm and slow as his hands still. Nasir tilts head upwards, presses mouth to where Agron's heart thrums through vein. "And more shall."

"At your hand too." Agron nuzzles face downwards, presses slow, wet kiss to Nasir's soft mouth. It is not possible for him to do anything without passion, without intensity that makes fire burn in center of Nasir's chest. 

"I fight because I have no choice. Rome has left me none. You fight because you enjoy it." Nasir means the words as jest, a jab to grate at Agron's pride. It lingers in the air between them, a shadow sliding over Agron's eyes. 

"Choice has never been mine." Agron mutters, shaking his head. "To kill now or watch those who hold place in heart be struck down. That is not choice. It is the cruel fucking game of the gods."

Nasir does not reply for some time, back pressed to Agron's chest, cradling his hands before him, fingers entwined. It seems Agron's hands can do many things, large with wide palms, fingers always poised for some action. Nasir had often stared at them, held and pressed his mouth to scars and rough callouses turned soft when against Nasir's skin. What sort of man is built the way Agron is, constructed for so many wonderful and yet horrible things?

"Is it common for all Germanic children to be born with sword in hand?" Nasir asks, allowing Agron to push him forward enough so his hands can curl in Nasir's hair. 

"What causes such thought?" Agron unties ribbon, tossing it to side as he guides Nasir back. 

"I saw you once, long ago, in the arena." Nasir confesses, eyes closing as water swarms around head, muffling sounds to dull murmurs. "My dominus was invited by Batiatus to gain favor." 

Agron draws him up, lathers oil into soft strands of Nasir's hair, working dried blood from ends. He is gentle in his ministrations, fingertips rubbing circles over Nasir's skull. It seems time in arena was lifetimes ago.

"The sun was unrelenting that day," Nasir arches his back, gasping breath, "I still remember the screams, the roar of the crowd when you appeared on sand. Appearing like Herakles, triumphant with sword raised. I thought very ground would tremble under your feet.”

“You speak highly of Roman sport,” Agron muses, lather easing hands through Nasir’s dark strands.

“I had seen the games before but not you. There was no other gladiator like you.” Nasir’s hand drifts to throat, tracing collar path, “You fought like man possessed. The Romans thought you fueled by some beast, half animal. The pounding of the drums when Duro fell to the sand. But you did not falter, I swear I could hear the spear slicing through opponent’s neck. A titan defying even the gods themselves."

"I do not fear the gods," Agron answers by easing Nasir's head back, pours water from cupped hands. He repeats the motion again, easing the soft curls back from Nasir's temple. 

Nasir's lips barely move. "They fear you."

"And you?" Agron's eyes seem to shimmer in candle light, looming over Nasir as he guides him back up, water dripping down his face and neck. Agron catches a drop on Nasir's chin. "Do you fear me?"

"No." Nasir answers, wrapping arms around Agron's neck. He does not wait for the other man to warn him away, instead uses grasp to pull Agron to him. Mouths meld, wet and soft, water slicking skin as Nasir wraps his legs around Agron’s thick waist. 

“My dominus offered me as gift to you, for good showing, but yours would not allow it. Something about spoiling your fury with the softness of my thighs.” Nasir draws back, eyes hazy and warm. "It seems our paths were always fated to meet."

"We were not the same men then." Agron strokes fingers along Nasir's jaw, down against his neck. He can still remember vision of collar there, Nasir's eyes huge when Spartacus had ripped it from place. "It would not have been like it is now."

"Would you have enjoyed it though?" Nasir asks, rocking his body slowly against Agron's. "A prize given freely. If choice had been given, I would have given self to you."

"Commanded to fall under me? Perform for those Roman shits? You did not know free will until Spartacus ripped collar from neck" Agron raises a brow, hands sliding down Nasir's back, gripping ass in hands. "I would have you now, as you are, with choice given."

“Have you not thought about it though?” Nasir moans, spreading thighs over Agron’s, pulling them until bodies align, heated flesh causing smooth friction. “If you had been sold to my dominus’ house, not yours.”

“No,” Agron pauses their movements for only moment, brow furrowed. “My only thought upon entering place was way to leave it. I saw what it did to those whose hearts were soft, boys like Pietros who dreamed of life beyond walls, of festering heart within it. I could not have felt what I feel for you within that prison.”

"You are still the same man as before." Spreading his hands over Agron's chest, Nasir looks up at him. "Killer. Soldier. Am I not the same?"

Taking Nasir's wrist, Agron presses their palms side by side, staring at their skin. It's clean now, void of dried blood and the carnage of battle. Agron remembers first time he held Nasir’s hand, soft cut of palms and long fingers, the type that did not show the labor Nasir was forced to do.

"We are not just one way, Nasir.” Agron presses lips to Nasir’s knuckles. “You still hold Tiberius inside of you. It will always be that way. Your past has helped shape you, but it is not only you. You are a brother, a friend, a free man, a soldier, and my heart.”

“And you? What sort of man are you?” Nasir asks, bottom lip caught between teeth. 

“I am as you say. A soldier. A killer. A beast that has slaughtered for sport and glory.” Agron says words passively, hands warm on sides of Nasir’s face. “But I am a man, a lover, and one that desires you very much for all parts.”

"Battle won and yet you still only desire me?" Nasir feels thick drag of cock against his inner thigh, can taste Agron in his mouth, thirsting for more. "Nothing more?"

"Nothing more." Agron's hands turn sharp, gripping and pulling Nasir to him. "How could I ever wish for anything else?"

Nasir kisses him then, feels skin melt together, aided by heat and water and the weight of Agron’s arms around him. Distantly, Nasir knows he should ponder on what Agron has said. What makes a man a man? It shows in glimpses and visions, pieces of who Agron was and who he is now. Agron whose anger burns on the edge always, simmers like a flame only needing the slight provocation before it erupts. The loyalty and devotion he shows for his family - Spartacus, Mira, Duro, and Nasir. He is kind to the stray dogs that seem to follow rebellion now, tossing them scraps and petting their gray fur. And yet he is fierce when aiding in training of rebels, harsh with broad strokes of his sword and sharp curses in German. The man burns hot and then hotter still. 

“Be within me.” Nasir begs the words against Agron’s mouth, hands scrambling on stone to grasp oil. 

“Is that what you desire?” Agron prompts, taking vial and pouring it over fingers. 

“Yes.” 

Nasir moans upon first breach, body shivering. It has burned hot during battle, but the warmth spreading through him is something else, a coiling in base of spine, pressure behind navel. When Agron is within him, all other things fall away. They cease to be two but instead meld until lines blur and they are united as one.

Frenzy collides them, hands and mouths drifting and grasping onto one another. Agron keeps arms woven around Nasir, cradling him at first press inside. Even after times shared over and over, Nasir’s body still tightens like vice upon him. Agron does not slow though, holds Nasir close and kisses wet and slow into his mouth. Memorizing taste and the pressure of Nasir’s thighs around waist. 

When they are like this, Nasir’s mind shuts off, blank to rest of the world outside of Agron’s body on his, his breath on Nasir’s face, teeth skidding over his pulse. The voices that carry from distant celebration fade into nothing as Nasir centers on the soft slap of skin to skin, gasping and moaning as Agron presses deep inside him. Nasir cannot last in this drunken haze, body trembling as stream after stream lands on Agron’s chest, whisked away by bath’s warm water. 

Agron's hands turn rough, fingers digging into Nasir's hips. He knows bruises will be left in their wake, markings lining the soft curve of Nasir's waist, over his back. Whispers will follow him, but Nasir does not let his mind linger on it. He would not change this, ever push away Agron from burying himself inside of him. Nasir will ache tomorrow, press fingers to bruises and remember Agron's face as pleasure over comes him, growling as he fills Nasir. 

"Agron, fuck," Nasir mumbles, nuzzling against Agron's neck, body seeming to be unable to stop trembling. He clings to the other man, allowing Agron's hands sooth down his back, still buried deep inside of him. 

Agron coaxes him down, eases them against side of tub, pressing lingering kisses to Nasir's upturned mouth. They are boneless drifting through time and space, bodies entwined. Nasir does not wonder if this place here is meant for him, it is. He can feel it in the perfect way he fits to Agron's body, their heartbeats kept in time. 

"We should return to party." Nasir mutters, face pressed to Agron's shoulder. "Others can use bath."

"It can wait." Agron replies, hand coaxing water over Nasir's bare shoulder. "I do not have it in me to be selfless leader as Spartacus."

"No," Nasir smiles, kissing Agron's jaw. "You are Agron."

"And you are Nasir." Agron replies, warmly holding Nasir's face in his hands. 

"And that is enough." Nasir seals words with kiss.


End file.
